


Cider

by threewalls



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Animals, Comfort, F/M, Hangover, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-19
Updated: 2008-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beer that smells of sour apples is bad for puppies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Breakfast](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2359) by lynndyre. 



> Written for lynndyre, who wanted h/c and puppies.

Basch woke curled up into a ball with a towel beneath him. His head hurt, and even the dim lights of the street outside seemed too bright.

Vossler barked once to see him awake, and then began to lick Basch's face all over. Basch turned his head away, for he thought the insides of his own muzzle tasted too foul to inflict on his friend. Vossler head-butted Basch's side a few times before settling beside him. Vossler whined low and inquisitive, but Basch felt much too ill to yip reassuringly in return.

The door to the bedroom opened down the hall, pouring in more light, however briefly. Basch tried to hide behind Vossler, but his friend bounded towards the light. Basch tucked his head under his paws, stifling a whimper of his own, but couldn't escape the harsh sounds of the slippers hitting the ceramic floor tiles of the kitchen. Vossler had snapped up a mouthful of pyjama leg, pulling the man over towards Basch. Remembering the shouting earlier that evening, Basch tried to shrink even smaller into the corner, eyes shut. But soon Basch could smell motor oil, dish soap, and stale people-sweat. Basch’s haunches tensed in anticipation, his stomach twitching uncomfortably.

Basch heard his own name called, but Balthier's tone was mild. With ears and tail down, Basch cautiously looked up. Balthier had sat down beside him. He stroked lightly over Basch's head, and then leant back, patting his thighs.

Basch slowly unbent. His head still hurt to move, but the journey to Balthier's lap was short and after he was settled, Balthier's hands were gentle as they stroked over Basch's fur, slow and soothing.

At the sound of more footsteps down the hall, Vossler set off once more across the tiles. Fran came into view wearing a pyjama shirt in the same soft fabric as Balthier’s pants and something small and black underneath. She carried two bottles of what looked like water, but Basch had resolved not to drink anything his people drank unless he knew exactly what it was. The beer that smelt and tasted of sour apples instead of beer had made him feel hot and tired so quickly, and made him leave his kibble (and stolen pizza) in a puddle in the lounge. Just the memory made his belly seem to move again. Fran poured out some of one bottle into the dog dish by the kitchen door. Vossler drank greedily, so Basch thought it must be water, but didn’t feel like moving just yet.

Fran sat down beside Balthier, her long legs bent with her knees beneath her chin. They passed the other bottle between them. Basch heard Fran say his name, and she scratched behind his ears with her long nails. Vossler trotted back over towards everyone else and pushed up over one of Balthier's knees, demanding part of his lap, and contact with Basch. Balthier still stroked along Basch’s back. He said the wonderful phrase: "good dog," and Basch felt much, much better. He yawned wide, his jaw snapping at the air. Basch licked Balthier's palm, Fran’s fingers and Vossler's muzzle, and let himself relax back into a nap.


End file.
